


An Expedition to the Eye

by moreagaara



Series: The Emperor Revived [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Brother Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Post, Cross-Posted on deviantArt, Crossover, Deviates From Canon, Diary/Journal, Emperor Revived, Fanfiction, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Literature, Manipulation, Minor Violence, Mission Fic, Missions, Non-Graphic Violence, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Originally Posted on deviantART, Post-Canon, Recovery, Religion, Rescue Missions, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Soul Magic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreagaara/pseuds/moreagaara
Summary: Arrighty!  So this is actually a step backwards from that Sanguinius piece I did, in which the Alpha Legion is openly working with the Imperium.  At this point, the Alpha Legion is still doing their play both ends against the middle thing.  You know, the thing that they still do after openly declaring for the Imperium, just a little more obviously and with Guilliman growling at them constantly.  Yes, we are referencing FFXIV in this (amazing, I can reference a video game besides WoW), but I personally do not actually play.  I dunno what it is about the game, but it just doesn't hit the same buttons that WoW does for me, and I can't get into it.  I have tried multiple times (mostly out of love for my dearest kaibun-creations, who likes the game sometimes more than WoW, which is completely fine).  ***Future me speaking, I have now divorced myself from WoW and now play FF14 and find it much more enjoyable than WoW's current state.  This makes posting some of the stuff I wrote about getting Primarchs out of death and stuff and to Azeroth somewhat awkward.Other things I should mention...mostly I'm posting this one because it helps set up a few later (mostly Angron-centric) pieces, and establishes what Lorgar is doing about his current faith.  Also, apparently it is canon that he isn't super keen on them anymore (there's a quote about his Legion being blind slaves to them involved, but I can't find it right now), and it is also apparently canon that Horus's soul dun got shattered and spread out across the Warp, and people are looking for/collecting the pieces.  This piece was written well before I heard about that one, and was in fact written when I believed that the Emperor had in fact completely destroyed Horus's soul.  I'm glad to have my idea made canon (although admittedly probably a lot of other people also had the idea so).  Also I have no idea if the Imperium actually uses C4, but I'm pretending they do.  Honestly they probably have better explosive goo than that, but maybe it's all Lorgar had access to, I dunno.Peep ownership!Games Workshop:  WH40k and relatedSquare Enix:  FFXIV and relatedhoholupercal:  Francis, Jenon, Oneccia (the planet on which they live), Freyja (the female version of Horus who lives on Eorzea)Me:  The writing, the Emperor's name, Hadik/Agnoia, and the two random Word Bearers who turned up and didn't get names
Series: The Emperor Revived [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1447444
Comments: 9
Kudos: 1





	An Expedition to the Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Arrighty! So this is actually a step backwards from that Sanguinius piece I did, in which the Alpha Legion is openly working with the Imperium. At this point, the Alpha Legion is still doing their play both ends against the middle thing. You know, the thing that they still do after openly declaring for the Imperium, just a little more obviously and with Guilliman growling at them constantly. Yes, we are referencing FFXIV in this (amazing, I can reference a video game besides WoW), but I personally do not actually play. I dunno what it is about the game, but it just doesn't hit the same buttons that WoW does for me, and I can't get into it. I have tried multiple times (mostly out of love for my dearest kaibun-creations, who likes the game sometimes more than WoW, which is completely fine). ***Future me speaking, I have now divorced myself from WoW and now play FF14 and find it much more enjoyable than WoW's current state. This makes posting some of the stuff I wrote about getting Primarchs out of death and stuff and to Azeroth somewhat awkward.
> 
> Other things I should mention...mostly I'm posting this one because it helps set up a few later (mostly Angron-centric) pieces, and establishes what Lorgar is doing about his current faith. Also, apparently it is canon that he isn't super keen on them anymore (there's a quote about his Legion being blind slaves to them involved, but I can't find it right now), and it is also apparently canon that Horus's soul dun got shattered and spread out across the Warp, and people are looking for/collecting the pieces. This piece was written well before I heard about that one, and was in fact written when I believed that the Emperor had in fact completely destroyed Horus's soul. I'm glad to have my idea made canon (although admittedly probably a lot of other people also had the idea so). Also I have no idea if the Imperium actually uses C4, but I'm pretending they do. Honestly they probably have better explosive goo than that, but maybe it's all Lorgar had access to, I dunno.
> 
> Peep ownership!  
> Games Workshop: WH40k and related  
> Square Enix: FFXIV and related  
> hoholupercal: Francis, Jenon, Oneccia (the planet on which they live), Freyja (the female version of Horus who lives on Eorzea)  
> Me: The writing, the Emperor's name, Hadik/Agnoia, and the two random Word Bearers who turned up and didn't get names

Alpharius sincerely hoped that Omegon would be able to keep both his father and his brother the Emperor from noticing he had vanished. At first, he had hidden out of sight—he had spotted Roboute at a distance, and had hidden himself in the shadows hundreds of feet above, wanting to avoid confrontation—but then, he had stumbled across a to-do list created by his brother Daenus. He had frowned in reading it, and had taken it upon himself to copy down what it said so he could think about it in private.

 _Get Horus/Freyja & Hadik/Agnoia off Eorzea _was the first item not related to the war against universal annihilation. The item after that was _Recover the rest of Horus’s soul from Lorgar,_ followed by an increasingly frustrated list of daemon worlds known to exist in the Eye of Terror where their wayward brother was not. Alpharius debated returning to the original list and adding the name of the planet where Lorgar actually was—Sicarus—but then Lorgar had come to the palace on his own to speak with their father and Omegon.

Omegon—and Alpharius through him—had kept a close eye on their brother’s behavior since he had arrived. Displeased at being anywhere near a healed Emperor—even one that was going out of his way to leave him be—he was lashing out with violence at anyone around him, including their father. Omegon had, fortunately, briefly managed to head off an explosion of chaotic power that would have leveled the entirety of the continent-spanning Imperial Palace by telling Lorgar of his theory that Khorne wasn’t the god he claimed to be.

That had gotten their brother thinking, thinking enough that the chaotic light that streamed around him—framing his horned head and dancing across the runes he’d engraved in his power armor—had dimmed. Omegon had offered up what limited proof he and Alpharius had on the subject, and Lorgar had been left even deeper in thought. He said and did nothing for most of the Terran night, and then he had seemed to come to a decision and left by the same sort of chaos-powered portal that had brought him into the Palace in the first place.

Alpharius had followed him through, and kept to the shadows as Lorgar crippled a Tyrannid invasion fleet by finding the largest among them and ripping its head off with his bare hands. He had burned the remaining bug-creatures out of what appeared to be boredom to Alpharius, and then he had meticulously cleaned the skull of all flesh. Once he was done, he delicately filled the hollow in the skull where the brain had been with what at first appeared to be white clay and a blasting cap. This done, he had stepped once more into the Warp; this time, Alpharius had not followed him.

It didn’t take a genius to guess what Lorgar meant to do with his C4-impregnated skull.

This, however, gave Alpharius the room he needed to sneak onto Sicarus and attempt to locate the pieces of Horus’s soul the Emperor’s list had mentioned. He hoped he still remembered the way there, and that the way he remembered would still work; the Eye of Terror in particular was notorious for having no real safe way in or out. The good news for Alpharius was that he was still seen as a loyal traitor—if such a thing really existed—and he might be able to simply ask nicely.

His personal ship—modeled after his old flagship, the Hydra, and even bearing the same name—was caught within seconds by the Black Legion. Even without the helmet, no one recognized him as being Alpharius or even a Primarch, but he still donned it for his meeting with Abaddon, where he claimed to be checking in from a mission. Abaddon had covered his face in exasperation, then listed off five different missions he had assigned—or rather, attempted to assign—the Alpha Legion and asked if it was any of those.

“Oh, those. We finished those ages ago. Didn’t you get the message?” Alpharius had asked, feigning confusion. In reality, while he had allowed his space marines to complete the requested missions, he had expressly ordered that no one report their completion to the Traitor legions. His lips twitched in a smile when Abaddon had furiously answered that he had gotten no message from anyone in his Legion for years; Alpharius rather thought that it was nice to have such loyal sons. Briefly he wondered if this was how the Emperor felt about his Custodians.

“Whatever!” Abaddon had snapped, then paced out what appeared to be a well-worn track in the space behind the fused-together metallic mass that served him as a desk. “I need someone to go check up on the Word Bearers. You’ll have to do; all my usual messengers are…” he trailed off and sighed, running one hand over his scalp and eventually twisting his fingers in his topknot. “The point is, the Dark Apostles need to know that the Word Bearers will have to be in the vanguard instead of the World Eaters.”

Strange. “Are the World Eaters not joining the Crusade at all this time, or are they busy doing their usual post-battle thing?” Alpharius asked, and Abaddon was distracted enough that he answered without thinking.

“No one knows where they are. They’ve suddenly gotten as hard to find as you assholes—” at this Abaddon shot Alpharius a withering glare, “—and their Primarch has vanished. Not even the other Daemon Primarchs have any idea where he might be.” Abaddon had started absently wringing the hilt of his sword like it was someone’s neck; Alpharius remembered seeing Horus do that when things were going particularly badly.

Best to go ahead and do what he needed; Alpharius did need to keep Abaddon happy enough to continue calling on the Alpha Legion, especially now that he had properly chosen a side. “They’re still holed up on Sicarus, right?” he asked, deciding it was best not to press the subject, and making a note to speak with Omegon about the Angron situation later.

“Yes. Now go.” With this, Abaddon turned away, muttering about his plans. Alpharius almost felt sorry for him as he made his way back to the Hydra—freshly fueled and ready to fly deeper into the Eye—and rather thought that Abaddon wasn’t really cut out to be the Warmaster of Chaos. He’d always been a better tactician, and much happier when he could take command from the front lines; Horus had taken care to place him there often, in particular when Abaddon needed a break from all the politics that kept cropping up. Now, though, Abaddon had no such escape; if he fell, what semblance of order he’d forced upon the chaotic legions would evaporate, and Alpharius would have a much harder job when it came time to wipe them out.

He had time to remove his helmet and lean backwards in his chair when his hologram projector came on, displaying none other than Abaddon. He appeared to have marshalled his emotions, and spoke with a great deal more care and caution than he had just displayed. Then again, this time he knew he was speaking to a Primarch. Perhaps Alpharius should do this more often… “What is it you want, Warmaster?” he asked, using the title neutrally; he had spoken in exactly this manner to Horus many times, and Abaddon clearly remembered this.

“I just wanted to inform you that I’ve sent one of your Legionnaires out on a mission,” Abaddon said; he met the Primarch’s gaze through the projector, but was mostly respectful. “He should be back soon enough,” he continued.

“Good. That was the other reason I sent him your way,” Alpharius replied; Abaddon really didn’t need to know who he had actually been speaking to. “What were the mission parameters?” He lifted one hairless brow at Abaddon, who took a deep breath before continuing; rage flickered behind his carefully schooled expression.

“He is to inform the Word Bearers that they will be in the vanguard in the next phase of the long war. We’ll be attacking—” here he named several dozen systems, spread out along the fringe of Imperium space, one of them dangerously close to Tau territory. “…and if you could spare a few more of your forces to soften those targets up before we get there, I would be…appreciative,” Abaddon concluded, though he looked as though he would rather swallow his own tongue than actually thank anyone, especially Alpharius.

“It just so happens that you’ve caught me in a moment of boredom, Abaddon,” Alpharius again decided to take pity on the chaotic Warmaster. “We’ll help you out. No thanks needed,” he said, then cut the communication. _What’s he after with all these systems…?_ he wondered, and Omegon—who had been listening—thought carefully about it. In the Crusade before last—the one in which Abaddon had seen fit to invade the Gothic sector—he had been after two things: an object called the Hand of Darkness, and as many Blackstone fortresses as he could acquire. Neither Alpharius nor Omegon had guessed at the first at all, and it had taken them far too long to arrive at the second. At least it had mostly worked out in the end…

 _What bothers me is that he’s planning all this while two out of four chaos gods are currently allied with Daenus against grandfather,_ Omegon noted, and Alpharius silently nodded his agreement. _I know it takes him a long while to gather anything like a suitable force together but…hmm. Perhaps he’s attempting to find Angron?_ his twin suggested.

 _Perhaps…_ Alpharius wasn’t entirely satisfied with this explanation. There had to be something else Abaddon stood to gain with all these systems, and he’d gotten increasingly crafty as the millennia wore on. _I agreed to help him out this time. Hopefully we can get more information by helping._

 _And get the attention of the Imperium while we’re at it,_ Omegon answered. It was their standard procedure to draw Imperium forces near the planets and systems Abaddon had targeted, so that they would be near enough to quickly repel the Black Crusade, hopefully before any primary objectives were achieved. For a long time, it had been the only way they could safely communicate with the Imperium, since they were believed to be Traitors; Omegon had hoped they could simply tell Daenus what was going on, and that he would react accordingly. The twins shared a sigh; clearing their name would have to wait.

~~*~~

Alpharius was stunned when he arrived at Sicarus. _The number of cathedrals on this planet is too damn high,_ he thought at his twin, who was currently distracted with avoiding Guilliman himself. Particularly important in his case, since Guilliman had killed him once. He decided to not bother his brother any further, and simply donned his helmet once again; the Word Bearers had particularly good memories for faces, and the last thing he wanted was to be recognized.

Even if he could easily claim to be simply impersonating ‘his Primarch’ as ordered, it was better to not allow the question to be raised in the first place. Fortunately, the Hydra was small enough to enter the atmosphere, and when he stated that he had a message from Abaddon, he was even permitted to land near the oldest and largest of the cathedrals. He took his time with the landing, and took even more time with walking down the ramp. Landing on a Daemon world always took him aback, no matter which of his brothers controlled it.

At the moment, Sicarus’s skies were clear of the infamous-to-the-chaotically-inclined blood storms; unfortunately, that meant that funnels of fire were idly spinning in the clouds, and Alpharius’s armor’s temperature control was strained to its limits. Not far away from where he’d landed, another monument was being raised; this one was apparently intended to display the glory of Slaanesh, and the slaves toiling to work on it were attached to hovercraft by long cables. He watched them, both with his physical eyes and his spirit’s eyes, for a long time; eventually he determined that each and every slave was drowning in chemically-induced pleasure from the modified hovercraft, and were only capable of their assigned tasks because that was what they had been doing when they had been attached to the floating craft. Alpharius privately wondered if Slaanesh even noticed the monument’s construction.

“Is it not beautiful, brother?” an unfamiliar voice asked near Alpharius, and he pivoted to observe them. A Word Bearer, outfitted in ancient power armor in desperate need of repairs, but unlikely to receive any since he had received horns that grew through the metal. He briefly glanced at Alpharius, then returned his rapturous gaze on the slowly rising structure. “It will be complete soon, and all these will be given to Slaanesh then. May the Dark Prince’s sun grow brighter,” he said, all fervent belief.

“Hopefully she remembers to pick them up before they start to smell,” was Alpharius’s only comment. He cut through the Word Bearer’s insistence that that would mean that Slaanesh was merely displeased with the quality of her sacrifices. “Are the Apostles available to hear that message from Abaddon?” and he allowed notes of irritation that he—a highly skilled space marine of the Alpha Legion—was being reduced to errand boy to bleed into his voice.

The Word Bearer seemed equally peeved that his audience wasn’t so devout as he himself was. “They informed me that I was to take your message and relay it to them,” he frowned. Alpharius only shrugged.

“Fine. Abaddon wants you lot to be in the vanguard for the next round,” he said without interest. “Long as I have you here…where’s the nearest Tzeentch shrine? Thought I’d leave a sacrifice before I left.”

The Word Bearer—now delighted that his ‘brother’ appeared to share his faith, if only for a different aspect of Chaos—informed him of two dozen nearby shrines, temples, and cathedrals dedicated to the Master of the Ways, along with the benefits of each. Alpharius nodded, and thanked him, saying that he’d visit several of them on foot, since just flying there—even on a small craft such as he had—felt disrespectful not just to Tzeentch, but all aspects of Chaos with him. The Word Bearer solemnly nodded—they’d had to discipline a World Eater for that very thing not too long ago; a few years, he thought, but time was so fluid here…

With that, Alpharius wandered what passed for streets; cathedrals, once determined to be insufficiently grand, had been buried under newer, better temples, and their rooves became the roads. Every now and then, Alpharius would pass a Word Bearer, and would say that he was visiting some of the Tzeentch temples in the area, and in return would receive smiles and blessings. One of them—more devout than the rest—escorted him personally to the nearest, and made sacrifice along with Alpharius. Where Alpharius received no mutational ‘gift’, the Word Bearer smiled rapturously as his face elongated into a stiff beak.

After a while, the streets began to empty. No Word Bearers passed his way, no slaves or crane-walkers shambled around with more construction materials. _Must be getting close,_ Alpharius thought, and drew his ghostly sword to confirm it. He had not drawn—had not needed to draw—the blade since Horus had found him and his confederation, and for a moment, he traced its edge with a finger. _Hello, old friend,_ he thought, and the blade shivered under his touch. _Shall we find Horus’s pieces?_

The blade quivered in his grip, then tugged to his left. Alpharius was briefly thankful that no one alive in the galaxy other than Omegon had ever seen him with this blade; it meant that if any Word Bearer did somehow manage to find him, he could simply claim it as being a gift from Tzeentch. But nobody came, and Alpharius made his way to a simple metal building unmolested.

There was no entrance that he could see. When Alpharius cut one into the structure with his spirit-sword, it emitted a screeching noise that he was sure had been heard for miles. But nobody came to investigate. He sighed, and entered through the hole he’d cut. Immediately before him, the floor fell away into nothingness; instinctively, Alpharius knew that no light could pierce the darkness that lay before him. He wanted, for a moment, to turn back, but his sword tugged him down, and so he found his way there.

He removed his helmet within a few moments; somewhere above him, the door he’d cut shimmered. Up there was light, and life, and his brother. Yet his sword tugged him further down, and Alpharius had a mission. He closed his eyes rather than continue to frustrate them in the endless shadows; sounds were far more important, and for all they sounded like they belonged to murderous beasts, he was aware they all originated from the ancient building he was in settling.

Eventually his sword started tugging somewhere other than down. Eventually, Alpharius felt dirt under his boots instead of metal. He opened his eyes again; here there were a few lights scattered about. Most of them were souls, ancient ones that had long since accepted their fate, and no longer attempted even a semblance of life; Alpharius sighed and shook his head. Witchlights were far more efficient than these, but he wasn’t here to criticize his brother’s decor.

His blade tugged gently to his right, and Alpharius carefully ducked under a low ceiling that led into a plain space. Books and scrolls were scattered everywhere, and more still were piled on shelves that stretched upwards into infinity; there was a wooden table, covered with more papers. Alpharius stepped closer, careful not to disturb anything around him, and smiled to himself. Lorgar had taken to keeping a diary; his most recent entry spoke of his broken meditation, and of how he had begun to see strange flashes in his memory; flashes of people and places that felt intimately familiar, but which he had never seen before, and he saw them most frequently when he attempted to scry for Angron.

Alpharius lifted his gaze to examine the other objects on the table; another candle, this one with a normal flame, though the wax was empowered by Tzeentchian magic to never burn low. Writing utensils—primarily ink and pen, though Alpharius smiled again to see clay tablets and wedge-shaped styluses; most of the tablets contained some variation of the phrase “why does this feel familiar?!” in cuneiform. He started to leave, but his blade tugged him back; when he looked, he saw something else.

A pocketwatch, or something that looked very much like one. Alpharius picked it up, and his blade lifted to tap it of its own accord. The delicate machinery in his hand pulled itself apart, and in the middle was something that almost looked like obsidian, if obsidian ate light. Alpharius touched it gently, almost reverently, then created a clasp of his own spiritual force to hold it as a pendant around his neck.

His blade tugged somewhere different now, deeper into the shelves. The pendant he’d made hung still and silent, though Alpharius could feel his sword drawing power from it to find the other, smaller pieces of soul. The next was tucked in a hollow book, and covered in glass. The third was hidden within a scroll. The fourth was kept with hundreds of other souls and soul-fragments, and it was far from the only one so deep a black.

He paused before he followed his sword’s insistent pull towards the fifth and sixth. The building was groaning, threatening to collapse in on itself, and bury Alpharius with it; his tension alerted Omegon, who silently asked if he was well, and told him that Lorgar had returned—been rescued—by Daenus and their father; Omegon had managed to derange their father’s blood portal so that it opened in Daenus’s warp-shielded labs instead of where Crawyen had intended. Lorgar would probably sense Alpharius’s presence once he left, and Omegon wasn’t certain how long that would be. Alpharius thanked him, and hurried along; his blade now extended before him like the needle of a compass towards where the last shards of Horus’s soul were.

Alpharius blinked when he found the room; it was well hidden, and without his sword, he doubted he would ever have found it. In the room was a star map, showing the whole of the galaxy, and several places in particular were illuminated. One—Terra, it could only be Terra—was speared to the table beneath by a miniature Guardian Spear; when Alpharius touched it, he was treated to a long rant about how dare the Emperor find a way to heal himself, and how dare he ascend to godhood after denying it—denying _Lorgar_ —for so long. He let go as quickly as he could, shaking his head to clear it of his brother’s anger. 

The other two…Alpharius had to look carefully. One of them was positioned in what looked like empty space, its marker (more gently pinned to the table) designated it as ‘Eorzea’. The sword swung around, pointing directly at the marker, and when Alpharius allowed it to touch, a tiny gem—perhaps the size of a grain of sand—clinked out onto the surface of the blade. He added it to his pendant, then touched the marker; Lorgar’s voice was much calmer now.

_I have found a planet suitable for hosting old souls; the planet is inhabited by a spirit calling itself Hydaelyn, and she is…quite the character. I have not yet determined if she is a god—though she is certainly strong enough to be one—but she is most displeased that I have found her. I approached her in reverence, the sort I would show to the Old Ones, and explained that I only wished to find a place for my brother to be reborn safely. Of course she did not trust me; she could feel my gods’ holy power burning within me, and she called them evil. I chose to say only that if they were evil, then the man I fought with all my being was a far greater one. That he had been the one to shatter my brother’s soul, that I had been lucky to gather as many pieces as I did, that I felt no other place in the universe was safe for him to return. I am not sure if she believed me, but she did allow me to present Horus’s soul._

_I showed her…most of the shards. Those shards, at least, that still follow the true path. The path of Primordial Truth, which ends with the false god of the Emperor being cast down and destroyed as utterly as he meant to destroy Horus. Hydaelyn, interestingly, could tell that what I held was not a full soul, but she could not tell where the rest might be. She bade me return when I had a completed soul; the last time she had permitted someone to be reborn within her embrace with an incomplete soul, she had needed to erase the memories of an entire world. I cannot fight her without destroying the planet, so I will have to return when I have found a way to patch the gaps in Horus’s soul without using the remaining pieces._

Alpharius was released, and for a moment had to count fingers. The pendant he wore seemed to have awoken, and almost felt like it was pulsing in time with a heartbeat. If Lorgar had done what Alpharius feared he had…he touched his sword to the second marker; again, a tiny chip of soul fell out, and he fused it to his pendant. He hesitated when he reached for it, and was again subsumed under a wave of Lorgar’s thoughts. He sounded smug now.

_If ever there was a time for me to be proven correct—more correct than ever—that leaving the Emperor’s service for the true gods, the Gods of Chaos, was the correct path, it would be now. I have been permitted to find what no one in the Imperium could possibly find: an entire world, hidden from the view of the wider galaxy by its own gods—lesser in scope, but no less worthy of worship to the Great Ones. Yet, those who dwell within the veil they cast may yet reach out to the wider universe, and I have come into contact with a man named Francis._

_I could not help but feel kinship for him. Here we have a man chosen to lead his people in unified worship, but the gods he worships will not answer him. He makes sacrifice after sacrifice, and yet receives either no answer, or worse, outright denial. It must have been fate that drew the two of us together…fate, or perhaps the Master Weaver is pleased with me. I shall have to thank him, if it is his doing as I suspect._

_Once I had heard Francis’s story, I could not help but contact him through dreams. There, I taught him how to open a hidden chaos portal—a portal none but one as blessed by chaos such as myself, or the direct creations of the Great Ones, or the Great Ones themselves, could detect. I directed it to open within my home, and elected to go to Francis; his need was more important than my quest for enlightenment (and besides, he might be an answer to my prayers for understanding?). He feared to see me, and would have worshipped me, but…like my blasted father, I told him I was unworthy of his prayers. Unlike_ him _, I explained myself: I am a mere messenger of the holy ones beyond Francis’s planet, those who rule the stars beyond what he can see when he gazes upward._

_Francis, I admit, was still afraid, and asked why it was I looked the way I did. After I told him—that my shape was a gift from the Old Ones, and that it came with immortality and limitless power—I began to see why his gods had been ignoring him. He is a greedy little rat of a man at heart, and I do not think him worthy of the gifts I have received…but it is not my opinion that matters there, and I have been surprised before._

_That first day, I had to beg rest from him; crossing such distances as we had done was tiring, and he would need the sleep to carry out his duties the next day, and though I had merely walked, his gods separated me from mine, and I had precious little energy to spare. I would be well enough down in the depths of his temple, near the portal back to my home, but I could not wander far. He need not fear; I would wait for him._

_I wasn’t even lying, although I did slip back to my home several times during the night to gain a brief dose of energy. Holy Tzeentch sent a messenger for me when I returned the first time; the messenger explained that wherever I had gone, I had disappeared from the awareness of the sacred Pantheon; Holy Nurgle, in particular, worried for me. I had to beg forgiveness and explain what was happening, though I needed not explain what a wonderful opportunity it was; even Holy Khorne realized it soon enough, though I am somewhat worried that he saw it only as a new world to conquer and the other three Sacred Ones had to physically hold him back from invading through my portal immediately._

_He was more pleased when I sent orders through dreams to my Word Bearers to track down some Dark Eldar to kill for him; they are inclined towards Slaanesh, after all, and nothing pleases him more than taking souls that would otherwise have gone to (him)her. I do hope that the Dark Prince did not mind, but (s)he didn’t make any move that would indicate that (s)he had._

_In the meantime, I received several small servants of Tzeentch to gather more information about this new world; when Francis returned, I explained their purpose. They would, however, need hosts to survive outside this room. Francis left quickly, and returned with children. Most of them were half-asleep, and uncertain why they had been pulled out of bed. I have to admit, I was somewhat…leery of blessing them as Gal Vorbekin so early, but needs must. They awoke fully within moments, eyes bright blue as the first mark of their change. All returned to bed; they knew their task already. In the meantime, I explained more of the wider universe to Francis._

_He was not surprised to know that darkness clothed in light lived in the universe beyond his world; he was surprised that it held so much territory and was so powerful. But he had his ideas…he had four lesser priests serving him, each serving a different set of his native gods. He would speak my words to them, and convince each of them to follow one of the Great Ones; that would increase their power within his world, and allow me and any of the Sacred Pantheon’s servants greater freedom. He is a very cunning little rat; Holy Tzeentch chose him well._

_At the present time, I have been speaking with him for a month, and I am impressed by his devotion. He is planning an expedition into the priesthood of Terra; I wish him luck, personally, as I doubt he will succeed even in getting there, let alone successfully showing even a single priest the Primordial Truth that I have shared with Francis. But, again, I have been surprised before. If he does succeed, the false Emperor I once followed is that much closer to the true death he so richly deserves. In the meantime, I have suggested that he halve the soul of this Jenon that vexes him so, and given him the means to do it; he will, I am certain, deliver the shorn half to me as I requested. I think I know what to do with it, and what I can give him in return…_

Again Alpharius was released, and this time he staggered backwards. “Oh boy,” he breathed, alarm filling him. Omegon could not help but ask what was wrong, and Alpharius simply shared his memories with his twin while he worked on leaving. The paths he had followed had changed, and drastically. He could no longer get out the way he had gotten in, and considering how no one had stopped him, he could easily be trapped down here, and nobody would come for him. Rather than panic, Alpharius decided to risk a blood portal out and back to his ship.

The building shuddered again as he folded into himself, then rebuilt himself out of nothing in his ship’s cockpit. Alpharius had no doubt whatsoever that the Chaos gods had noticed his unorthodox way of leaving, and had marked where he had gone; quickly, he checked his ships for stowaways, and found a curious Word Bearer who wondered how he’d managed to get back. Fortunately, he believed Alpharius when he claimed it was a skill known to all Alpha Legionnaires, and that he had only moved—on foot—swiftly and silently back to his ship. He had not received any blessings from Tzeentch, no; it was very disappointing, and he would have to bring better sacrifices next time. Unfortunately, he’d gotten a call from his captain that he was needed back in realspace immediately if not thereupon sooner, and so he had to go.

The Word Bearer insisted on helping him get ready to leave, and Alpharius honestly appreciated the help. He even let him live the entire way out of the Eye of Terror, but didn’t feel a shred of regret when he aimed his bolter point-blank at the space marine’s skull and pulled the trigger. There were lines to be crossed when it came to soul magic, and if he was correct, Lorgar had crossed several. Daenus—and more importantly, Crawyen—had to be alerted, and the shards of Horus’s soul that Alpharius had rescued needed to be brought to true safety.

The fastest way to do that was to switch places with Omegon. It took a good deal of effort to pull the pendant into his spirit (as it wasn’t entirely his), and more effort still to convince Omegon to actually allow the switch, but the switch itself was smooth. Once Alpharius was certain that he was the one in control, he made his way to the rooms his father had been given in the bowels of the palace; thankfully, they were away from prying eyes, and he could push the pendant back out of his spirit while he waited.


End file.
